by Terry Tyler
She wrinkled her nose. "It's just Shaw down here, mate."
"Did you, though? Fool them, I mean."
"Yeah. I know my psychology. Ticked the answers on the multiple choice that they'd be looking for. I'm good at that; it's not always what seems obvious at first." She laughed. "Should have been a psychologist myself!"
"But why? If the job's not right for you, why pretend it is?"
She gave him a withering look. "I wanted to go to Tasmania, dum-dum! Why did you join up?"
"Because I was fed up with handing over half my salary for the privilege of living in a so-called studio flat in Zone Two."
"Why didn't you do a house share?"
"I like my own space. Trouble was, I had to get the job before I could start looking for somewhere to live. If I'd known what I had to earn just to live in a rabbit hutch—well, here I am."
"And here we are."
The four of them started to look for a way out on the morning that Kitson was punched in the face by Bateman for stealing from his secret stash of protein bars. Goodman's inner circle barricaded themselves into the canteen with their share of the food, while Bateman and co. went on the rampage.
When Doyle found the door, he gathered Shaw, Travis and Johnson around.
"We won't tell them about it yet," he said. "If we do, they'll crowd into the tunnels, and people will get hurt. Trampled, even, or lost, and I'm not going down any dark tunnel with Bateman either in front of or behind me. We'll suss it out first. Go and pack, now, in case we decide not to come back. Essentials only, leave behind anything you don't absolutely need."
Travis packed light, in a small, canvas backpack. He left his 'work' clothes where they were; he'd always hated them, anyway. Felt as though he was dressing up as someone else.
Ten minutes later, as they opened the kitchen door, they heard shouting in the corridor.
"Bateman's hungry," said Doyle. "C'mon, let's get out of here."
Half an hour, a few rats and several dead ends later, they came to a metal ladder. Doyle shone up his torch, and they crowded round.
At the top of the ladder was a hatch.
"Who's the strongest?"
"Travis." Shaw's voice, in the dark. She gave a short, nervous laugh. "You seen those biceps?"
Even in their dire circumstances, he couldn't help being pleased. She'd noticed.
Any boost from her words evaporated a moment later, when the hatch turned out to be a heavy, metal manhole cover which, at first, proved impossible to budge.
No way was he going to fail. Especially not with Shaw waiting down below.
He pushed harder; a moment before he lost all strength in his arms, a loud thump signalled that the cover had yielded to his efforts, and he saw daylight for the first time in weeks.
"Ohhh! Oh Wow. Air!" His aching hands gripped the rim of the opening, his feet still on the ladder, as he lifted his face to the daylight.
Whew! The smell of putrid food invaded his nostrils; so that was why the hatch had been so difficult to open.
The cover had been hidden from view by a large, industrial bin that now lay overturned on the ground, its rotting contents clashing with the clear morning air.
Travis looked around, ignoring the impatient cries from down the ladder.
He was in an enclosed, shabby yard behind some tall, apparently empty buildings; they were in darkness, and he saw no signs of life.
He felt as though the windows were huge eyes, watching him, but he didn't care, not even about the stink from the bin. The sun was shining—making a weedy effort to peep through the clouds, anyway—and he was free.
"Travis!" Doyle's voice from down below. "Come on, let us up! Where are we?"
He levered himself up onto the ground and peered down. "We've done it! We're outside! And it's fucking beautiful!"
Doyle came up first, then Shaw, who brushed off his offer of a hand to help her out.
She looked around, half in, half out. "Yeah, it's really picturesque. Hang on while I grab my camera."
Travis laughed. "Aria, it's outside. That's beautiful, in my book."
She nodded. "It is." And this time she didn't tell him not to call her Aria.
Johnson came out last. "This is it, then. We'll go tell the others, right?"
"Not me," Aria said. "It'll be mayhem in there once they know there's a way out; I bet most of them won't want to stay, whatever Goodman says, and we need to be well away from here before the tunnels flood with those idiots. 'Specially the bully boys; people will get hurt."
"Agreed." Doyle was already adjusting his pack on his back, ready to go.
"We can't just leave them," Travis said. "We have to go back. It's not right. They could die."
"Course they won't!" Doyle laughed.
Aria nodded. "There is no way on earth I'm reacquainting myself with those rats. No one's stopping you, though, if you're so keen."
Shit. He really, really didn't want to go back down there. "Okay." Shit and double shit. Had he remembered to mark the wall at each turn?
"Don't worry, I'll go," said Johnson, and began climbing back down the ladder. He looked up and smiled. "It only needs one of us, and it's my call; if you guys hadn't included me, I'd still be stuck down there. Good luck, peeps. See you again one day, perhaps!"
Travis breathed a sigh of relief as Johnson disappeared down the hatch.
That was it. Tasmania, over. He felt bad; should he have gone back with Johnson? No. Those people weren't his responsibility. Kitson had been his mate, but only because circumstances had pushed them together, and he'd turned out to be a prick of the first order.
He stood still, wondering if he really would have gone, if Johnson hadn't volunteered. Of course I would, he told himself.
Better not to have had that resolve tested, though.
"Stop feeling guilty," Aria said, breaking into his thoughts. "Johnson's okay. He volunteered, didn't he?"
Doyle clapped him on the back. "Let's go, then! And fuck Verlander and Renova Workforce Liaison, eh?"
The yard was closed off from the street by high, wooden, padlocked gates; they wheeled the bin over and climbed onto it, and Travis was the first one to the top.
He was to remember his first impression of the new world for a long time afterwards.
"My God."
What struck him most was the stillness.
Then, the smell.
They climbed out onto a side street strewn with litter and burst bin bags. Rotten food spilled out everywhere. Across the road were takeaways, small shops and offices, but all the buildings were in darkness. Far above a helicopter passed, but aside from that there was no sound of traffic.
"Jesus," said Travis.
"Fucking hell," said Doyle.
"Shi-it," said Aria.
Central London, in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, and there was no sign of human life.
He could hear birds; when had he last heard birds, above the din of the capital on a weekday afternoon?
Christ. Had the world ended?
The peace was almost beautiful.
Spray-painted on a wall were the words Before me was a Pale Horse.
"Death," said Travis.
Doyle frowned. "Eh?"
"Revelations. The rider on the pale horse is death."
"Ugh, don't." Aria shivered.
Movement from the depths of a pile of bin bags made Travis jump. Rats. Ugh, indeed. He shuddered.
Aria stepped out into the road. "We were right, then. About the virus."
Travis decided not to mention the moving bin bags.
"Must be." Doyle laughed. "Maybe the survivors have all gone to Mars."
"Bloody hell," said Travis. "What do we do?"
Doyle shifted his backpack further up his shoulders. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not sticking around waiting for Bateman's mob to get out. I'm off. Do you think the Tube's still running? I’ve got to get to Bedford, check on my family."
Aria shook her head. "Doyle, I th
ought you were supposed to be switched on? There isn't any Tube, dummy. Listen." She put her hand behind her ear, an exaggerated pose. "There are no cars. No people. Who do you think is driving the trains?"
"Some of them were auto."
"Yeah, I know, but someone's still got to make it happen."
"Shit. Yeah. I wish we had our phones."
Travis smiled. "Er, Doyle. If the power and the people have gone, the phones will have, too."
Doyle frowned, then laughed. "I'm a tool, right? Best start walking, then. Right, I'm going this way." He gave them a salute. "It's been a pleasure working with you. See y'all in the next life!"
"Oh—okay! But—hang on!" Travis called after him. "Don't you want to—"
"What? Go for a drink? Exchange numbers? Follow you on Twitter?" He laughed. "Listen to your own advice—it's over, mate. G'luck to you both. And if you ever see that prick Verlander, give him a kick from me!"
He turned, holding up his hand in a wave; Aria and Travis watched him walk down the road, whistling, then he rounded a corner and was gone.
Everywhere was just so damn still, apart from the fluttering of rubbish across the pavements and roads. And the scuffling inside the bin bags.
"Wonder if this still works." Aria turned to an ATM, behind them. She got her debit card out of her bag, but the machine was dead. "Idiot," she muttered, "and I took the piss out of Doyle." She turned. "So what do we do about money? I mean, it's electronic, isn't it? So if there isn't any power, are we all broke?"
A few sheets of typed A4 scurried past; Travis watched them. Wondered who'd typed them, where they were now. If they would've wasted their last weeks in an office, had they'd known what was going to happen.
"Do you think this really is it? The end?" He looked up and down at the empty buildings, thinking about all those people who went to work in them every day, so they could pay the rent on rabbit hutch bedsits like the one he used to live in. Where were they all? Dead? All those businesses, no longer functioning. Could life as they knew it really be over, just because of some disease? "Do you think it's like this everywhere?"
"Who knows? Could be everyone's just stayed at home, and the suburbs are bustling with people." Aria turned to him, smiling, long black curls floating in the breeze. How pretty she was; she seemed different, now they were away from the tussle of wills in The Bunker. Even her voice was softer. "What are you going to do?"
He smiled back. "Go and see if my family's still alive, I suppose."
"Where's home?"
"Village called Lower Ashby in Leicestershire."
To his great surprise, she clutched his arm with something that felt like affection. Where had that come from?
"Right," she said, "we'd best go and find ourselves a car showroom, then."
"What?"
"We need a car. Car showrooms will have nice brand new ones, with keys."
"Won't they be locked?"
She put her head on one side. "Du-uh. We break the windows."
"Oh—yes, I suppose we can. Better keep a look out for cops, though."
"I shouldn't think there are any. Look around. Everyone's gone."
They began to walk down the road. "Where are you going to go?" he asked.
"Me? I'm coming with you." She gave him another irresistible smile. In the ten minutes since they'd been above ground, she'd smiled more than she had in the previous few weeks.
"You are?"
"Yeah. I've got no one. No one I give a stuff about, least ways. That's why I signed up for the project. Nothing to lose."
He took her hand. He liked this, just the two of them. The last people on earth, maybe. "Okay, then. Best you come with me."
They walked in companionable silence for a moment, then she said, "So, are you going to tell me your name, or shall I keep calling you Travis?"
"It's Leonard. Which is bloody awful, I know; I was named after my grandfather. I mean, Leonard Travis; sounds like I'm about seventy, doesn't it? With a bald patch and those stretchy metal bracelet things that chaps wear above their elbows in old films, to keep their shirt sleeves up."
Aria laughed. "You could be Lennie. That's okay."
"That's what they called me at school. I didn't like it."
"Leo, then. You look like a lion." She glanced at him, almost flirtatiously. "'Specially now that gorgeous blond mane's grown a bit."
He felt his lips twitch at the corners. "Oh yes, I'm a real king of the jungle. Not. To be honest, I'd rather stick with Travis."
"I like Travis. It's cool."
"So why are you called Aria? Game of Thrones?"
"Everyone says that. It's not even spelt the same. No; my father's an opera singer."
"For real?"
"Uh-huh."
"Don't you want to go and see your family?"
"No."
Both her expression and the monosyllabic answer told him not to question any further.
The side street opened out onto the main road, and they stopped, in shock. More rubbish strewn pavements, more smashed windows, and burnt out cars. Some sort of barricade, kicked down. No sign of life, anywhere.
"Jesus," murmured Aria. "Je-sus Christ.
Yards away, over to his right, Travis saw a body. Bloody, mangled. Impossible to tell if it was man or woman. His stomach lurched. No—surely it couldn't be moving? Oh no. Oh, hell, no, was he or she still alive? Then he realised what the movement was. Rats. Crawling over it. Eating it. Revulsion turned his stomach, horribly, and he put his arm around Aria's shoulders, steering her the other way.
"This way."
"Why?"
"Just don't look back."
"You know telling someone not to look is the best way to ensure they do."
He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to look back, too. "Rats."
"Ah." She glanced up at him. "Thanks."
They walked on.
"Do you think there will be lots of rats, everywhere?"
"Not so many out of the city, I shouldn't think." He looked around. Everywhere looked the same, just dead. "It's so quiet. That's what I can't get my head round."
"Won't be in a minute." Aria clutched at his arm and nodded down the road.
A group of men approached, in the distance. Hard looking, rough, on a mission. And they'd seen them.
"Let's get out of here." Travis grabbed her hand, and they darted down the next side street, zig-zagging back and forth round corners, backpacks bouncing, until they felt safe to rest.
"Never mind that car showroom," Aria said, leaning against a wall and gasping for breath. "I think I might be able to hotwire a car."
Travis patted his chest and panted. "What do you mean, you think you might be able to? I'm sure it's not as easy as it looks."
"An old boyfriend showed me how, years ago. I reckon I can remember. Well, I can try, can't I?" She grinned, through her gasps for breath. "And on the way up to Leicester you can tell me all about your posh family."
Travis was still trying to catch his. "What makes you say that? Posh, I mean."
"Your accent, mate." She put her hands on her thighs, leaning over. "What are they like?"
"Pretty ghastly. Which is why I have as little to do with them as possible."
She winked. "Are they rich?"
He didn't answer. People changed towards him when they discovered his background. "Can you really hotwire a car?"
"I think so."
She hadn't pushed it. Good.
Out of the corner of his eye, Travis saw movement. Small, dark grey, scuffling movement.
"We need to get out of the city."
"Copy that." Aria stood up. "Let's go, then."
She set off in front of him, trying car doors, and Travis ambled along behind her, already wondering if returning to Ashby Grange was such a great idea.
Perhaps they would all be dead.
He tried to imagine it, wondered how he would feel if it were so, and was only slightly alarmed to discover that he felt very little at all.
<
br /> Now
Chapter Fifteen
A Lawless Society
November 2024
I know more, now, about the virus. And about Private Life. I understand, now. As much as Kara and Phil do, at least.
At first, I was angry with Dex for keeping so much from me. I felt insulted and patronised, but when I sat back and thought about it, I understood. I couldn't have dealt with it, at the time.
Kara and Phil gave me the lowdown as soon as we'd settled in.
"When Gia first came on board, all she did was confirm what we knew," Phil said, "i.e. that online surveillance of the population is common practice. We've been sharing Guardian articles about it for ten years or so, for goodness sake, but so few wanted to know. Head in the sand job."
I looked down, embarrassed.
"We were right about Private Life." When Phil said that, I thought about all the times I'd ridiculed Dex, and I was ashamed. "It was set up to make bulk data analysis faster and easier, automatically flagging a massive list of keywords and phrases. Sixty-eight percent of adults in the UK were registered, and something like eighty per cent of under-eighteens, so it removed the need for much widespread observation." He shrugged. "You know; shopping habits, emails, Facebook 'likes'."
"But what were they analysing the data for?"
Kara chose her words with care, before answering. "We believe, though we never had absolute confirmation, that we were being categorised for targeted depopulation via man-made virus. Who would get the vaccine, who was expendable. Gia discovered that although a version of Bat Fever had originated in Africa, it was purely bat-to-bat. The genes were manipulated so the disease could only be contracted by humans, and spread by physical contact and airborne transmission.
"How? I mean, how did she discover all this?"
"Slept with the right people," Kara said. She exhaled, and shook her head, sadly. "By which I mean those who would give her little snippets of info for which she didn't have security clearance. She did that, for us. For everyone, I mean."
"I can't believe it," I said, stopping myself from asking if she'd shagged anyone else; it was hardly the time or place. "I mean, I do, I believe what you're telling me, but it's so hard to take on board."